


the arms that launched a thousand ships

by surgicalstainless



Series: rhymes with "plucked" [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Apologies to Shakespeare, Bucky Barnes' arms, Egregious Literary References, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Jane is a terrible troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surgicalstainless/pseuds/surgicalstainless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane circled the lab, shutting down machines and making sure everything was safe and secured for the night, only to be distracted by the sight of a familiar yellow legal pad. Was that — ?</p><p>It <em>was</em>. A completed Shakespearean sonnet composed in honor of Bucky Barnes' arms. </p><p>It would be <em>such</em> a shame if Darcy just hid it in a drawer somewhere, never to see the light of day...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [arma virumque](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2212440); your fic-reading experience may be enhanced by reading that one first.
> 
> Thanks as always to my beta readers, [Amethystina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina) and [LilyT](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyT/pseuds/LilyT). [Wynn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynn/pseuds/Wynn) also read over a very early draft. Any remaining terribleness is mine alone.
> 
> Also: this was written ages ago, so it is _AoU_ -free.

It was the silence that did it.

The sudden silence in the lab set off a tiny alarm in Jane's head, deep in the section Darcy liked to call her Survival Brain.

"No, this is how your brain works," Darcy had proclaimed, once. It had been late at night, Jane remembered, and they'd been up on the roof of the lab in Puente Antiguo, commemorating their nonfatal encounters with both aliens and Men in Black. "You should listen to me," Darcy had said, "because I am a woman of many parts. _You_ do not have so many parts. You have Science Brain — that takes up most of the room— and then squished into some random corner are Basic Human Functions Brain and Survival Brain. Those last two are tiny and atrophied, and _that_ is why you need _me_."

There had been some Jägermeister involved.

Now, late at night in New York City, the sudden quiet in the lab drew Jane out of Science Brain and made her glance around in puzzlement. It was _really_ quiet and, she realized, really _late_ , not another person in sight and most of the lights turned off, except where she and Darcy worked.

Well, where _she_ worked. Darcy was passed out at her desk, drooling on her notepad with a fuzzy pen clutched to her chest as if it were a teddy bear. Her iPod was dim in its dock — having reached the end of its seemingly inexhaustible playlists, it had gone gentle into the good night. Jane allowed herself a moment of _aww_ (and took several pictures with her phone) before she saved her work and stood up to stretch.

"Darce? It's late, you should go to bed."

"Wha?" Darcy blinked at her, uncomprehending, for a long minute before she stood, too. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." She shuffled off toward the elevators, still only half awake.

Alone now, Jane circled the lab, shutting down machines and making sure everything was safe and secured. Darcy had left her phone, Jane noticed; that wasn't usual. She reached for it, meaning to take it up to the residential floor with her, but was distracted by the sight of the yellow pad underneath it. Was that — ?

It was. A completed Shakespearean sonnet composed in honor of Bucky Barnes' arms. Jane noted with satisfaction that Darcy had taken her suggestion about the _carven/scarred skin_ rhyme. She was proud of that rhyme. It would be such a shame if Darcy just hid it in a drawer somewhere, never to see the light of day...

Jane powered her computer back on and opened a new text document.

———

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, Dr. Foster?"

"You can keep a secret, right?"

"If the cause is both right and just, I most assuredly can, Dr. Foster."

"...Does this count as right and just?"

"May I remind you that Mr. Stark was responsible for my programming?"

"Ah. Good point. Is the coast clear?"

"Yes, Dr. Foster, the coast is clear."

———

It was an innocuous thing, just a single piece of paper pinned to the otherwise-empty kitchen noticeboard with a bright pink pin. There was no signature, no identifying mark. The content, Jane thought, rather spoke for itself. 

> I sing of the arms of the man, O muse  
>  Who fled from Hydra as the carriers burned  
>  And walks now topless through the tower (the view  
>  Could launch a ship or two) all unconcerned.
> 
> One arm, as if from finest marble carven,  
>  The other clad in plates of shining steel;  
>  To watch strong muscles ripple under scarred skin —  
>  No man of wax could match such raw appeal.
> 
> Those arms wreak wintry havoc on their foes  
>  And lend their steady strength to friends in need;  
>  Yet dextrous flesh and sinister metal know  
>  To pluck a flower soft, I'll chance, and sweet...
> 
> To gaze upon them's bittersweet delight —  
>  I would those arms manhandled me this night.

Jane slid Darcy's phone under her door, and went to bed well-pleased with her night's work. Behind her, the paper fluttered in some unseen air current, white and innocent against the gloom.

———

When Jane made her way to the Avengers' communal kitchen the next morning, she found a small huddle of superheroes gathered around the table near the noticeboard. Steve and James looked to have just come back from a run and were nursing bottles of water. Tony was fully dressed, but in what looked like yesterday's clothes. He held a coffee cup in each hand and was using one of them to gesture at the mysterious verse; the three were apparently in the middle of an intent conversation. Jane camouflaged herself with her extra-large "Astrophysicists do it in the dark" mug and the latest issue of _General Relativity and Gravitation_ , and sat down to watch the show.

"I think we can rule out Thor, on the grounds that his arms are bigger than yours," Tony was saying.

"Hey!" Steve protested, ever-loyal, but James only nodded, conceding the point.

"Do you think it's Bruce? Does Bruce want to be... _manhandled_?" Tony asked. 

All three of their gazes turned inward, as if imagining such a thing. Bruce chose that particular moment to wander into the kitchen, empty mug in hand. He paused, seeing the huddle by the noticeboard, and went over to find out what was attracting so much interest. Avid eyes watched as he read, chuckled, and turned away toward the kettle.

Tony's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "That was a letdown."

"Doesn't answer the question," James mused, "but I guess we can rule him out."

"Bucky!" Steve was half scandalized, half laughing. 

James shot him a wink and a leer. "Don't pretend you weren't curious, punk."

Tony had returned to the matter at hand. "Barton? Is it Barton? I'd disqualify him on the same grounds as Thor, but also, he just doesn't seem the type to do iambic pentameter."

Clint was sitting at the far end of the breakfast bar, bolt upright with his eyes closed, clutching an entire pot of coffee as if it were a religious artifact. He had pillow marks on his face, and his shirt was inside out. Jane thought it was kind of adorable.

"It takes a lot of brains to do what Clint does," Steve said mildly. "I'd think you of all people would know better than to buy the 'simple carnie' act."

Tony had the grace to look (slightly) abashed.

"Besides," Steve went on, "our mystery poet is probably a woman."

"And you say that _why_?" Tony looked up at the noticeboard again, a little offended at the idea that he might have missed a clue.

James' smirk was wicked. "Flowers."

"Flowers have been a symbol of female sexuality for centuries," Steve agreed. His mouth quirked up into a movie-star smile. "Our poet suggested she might like to be _plucked_."

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May." James waggled his eyebrows lasciviously, and Tony gaped at them both.

Hidden behind an article titled "Cosmic Jerk and Snap," Jane stifled a giggle. She could practically _hear_ Tony's illusions shattering.

"Uh," said Tony, trying to regroup. "So that leaves us with... Natasha and, uh, Natasha." He shook his head. "We gotta get some more ladies on the team."

The three men turned as one to look at Natasha. She'd come in not long after Bruce and was now standing at the kitchen counter making fruit salad with unusual prejudice. They watched as she dissected a banana, knife flashing.

Tony swallowed, audibly. "Probably not Natasha, then."

Steve looked amused. "I assume you _have_ asked JARVIS about this?"

"Of course! He wouldn't answer, the traitor. He said that the cause was, quote, _right and just_ , and wouldn't give me anything." Tony subsided into a pout. Across the table, James' smirk went up to eleven.

"Well, who else has access to this floor besides us?"

"Dr. Foster," Tony said, waving a dismissive hand in her direction. Jane ducked a little and did her best to look Very Intent on her journal and not like she'd been eavesdropping shamelessly. "And Pepper, of course..."

There was a short, fraught pause, in which Tony's face slowly drained of all color, and he slumped almost all the way off his chair. "Oh, god, _Pepper_." He buried his head in his hands and moaned. "She's going to leave me for the Six Million Dollar Man over there."

Steve tentatively patted him on the back a few times.

"I mean, I've got nice arms, I hammer shit all the time. I've got a robot arm, I've got _two_ robot arms, there's a whole suit. She hates the suit, oh g—"

"Easy there, Stark," James interjected. "I've never been the type to break up a happy couple, and I'm not going to start now."

"Besides, Pepper scares him," Steve added, still patting away.

"Shut _up_ , Rogers."

"It's okay," Tony said, as he sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "She scares me, too."

He drained one of his mugs, regrouping, and Steve and James each drank some more water. Watching over the top of her journal, Jane had to admit that Darcy had been _right_. James Barnes drinking from a bottle like that was downright indecent.

That was when Darcy stumbled in, of course. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were barely open, and she was wearing sushi-print pajama pants. Her gaze fell on James, with his head tipped back and his throat working, and she stopped in the doorway to stare. (Jane could not blame her _at all_.)

Steve nodded politely. "Darcy."

Tony, sitting with his back to the door, sat bolt upright. "Darcy! Of course!"

James slowly lowered his bottle and fixed Darcy with an assessing look.

Jane sank lower in her chair, hoping _General Relativity and Gravitation_ would shield her.

Darcy blinked and slowly took in the three men, the poem on the noticeboard, and what that might mean. Then she blushed dark crimson right to the roots of her hair, and fled from the room.

There was a short silence.

"Well," Tony said, twisting in his chair to stare after her retreating form, "that answers that."

"Guess so," said Steve, staring at James.

James didn't say a word. Instead, he recapped his water bottle and set it on the table. Then he stood, gave his sweatshirt a sniff, and pulled it over his head, leaving it draped on the now-vacant chair. (Jane noted with no surprise at all that he wasn't wearing anything underneath.) Finally, he pulled a peony from the vase on the counter and tucked it behind one ear.

His hips had a little extra swagger to them as he made for the door.

 _Everyone_ watched him go.

———

  
**— New text message —**  


 **Darcy Lewis:** _I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW_

 **Darcy Lewis:** _FAITHLESS, BACKSTABBING WENCH_

 **Darcy Lewis:** _A PLAGUE ON YOUR HOUSE, JANE FOSTER_

 **Jane Foster:** _¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

 **Darcy Lewis:** _oh sHIT HE'S AT THE DOOR_

Jane turned the page and started in on an article about pulsars. Her phone did not buzz again.


	2. post-credits scene

Darcy practically flew back to her suite and slammed the door. Then she locked it, leaned up against it, and slowly slid to the ground.

Holy mother of fucksticks.

Gods-benighted bloody fuckity fucking _balls_.

She wasn't ready for this. She hadn't even had any _coffee_ yet.

She slid her phone out of her sweater pocket, engaged caps lock, and proceeded to tell Jane exactly how she felt. The device buzzed in her hands a few seconds later, while she was trying to think of more synonyms for "treacherous."

**— New text message —**

**Jane Foster:** _¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

Darcy burned with a fresh wave of rage. "I taught her that!" she muttered in betrayal, and thumped her head back against the door a few times to see if that would help.

The door knocked back.

Darcy froze, employing the old _hold still and hope it goes away_ strategy.

The knock came again.

"Darcy? I'm pretty sure you're in there. You wanna open up?" The voice was a little gravelly but still pleasant, alive with humor. Darcy sent one last panicked text, then reverted to the old _hope the floor opens up and swallows you_ strategy.

"I'm just going to recite poetry at you until you open the door, then." The voice cleared its throat. " _O Darcy-doll, Darcy-Doll, whither art thou, Darcy-doll? / Deny thy shyness and forsake thy room._ "

It was a fine voice, clear and carrying and carefully enunciated. It had a grit to it, like it was more used to battlefield communication than oratory, but it had obviously once been well-trained. Choirboy, maybe? _Ooh_ , choir boy...

" _Or, if thou wilt not —_ " 

"Ugh, FINE." Darcy yanked the door open before she had to hear what came next. "What?" Unfortunately, that's when her eyes caught up. 

James Barnes stood in her doorway, with his hair in a messy ponytail and a pink flower tucked behind one ear. He was wearing dangerously low-slung sweatpants and nothing else. His skin ( _so_ much skin) _glistened_ slightly, as if he'd been working up a sweat. _Of course_ , Darcy thought. She had a moment of dizzying confusion as her idle choirboy fantasy ran smack into her half-naked supersoldier fantasy and made real good friends. 

She had a sudden urge to cross herself. She wasn't even Catholic. 

"Uh..." _Focus, Lewis!_ She dragged her eyes back up to James' face by sheer force of will. He smirked at her, knowing. "What," she said again, "do you want?"

"I wanted to ask you if you'd let me take you out for dinner sometime."

Darcy narrowed her eyes. "Is that a euphemism?"

"No, ma'am." The _not unless you'd like it to be_ was implied, Darcy supposed.

As she watched, though, James' posture changed, became more open. Darcy had been _looked at_ by James before; she knew he was capable of making her feel prickly-hot and too small for her skin with just a lingering glance, but — this was different.

He ducked his head, watched her from beneath those ridiculous lashes. His eyes were warm and hopeful, and the small crinkles at the corners matched the way his lips curved up, ever so slightly. His bare shoulders rose and fell in a small, silent sigh, and he bit his bottom lip.

Darcy burst out laughing. "Seriously?" she asked, when she could speak again.

His expression blossomed into a full, bright smile at her laugh (and _oh_ , she could stand to see _that_ again), then resolved into something more sober. "Seriously."

"You're not making fun of me, or feeling sorry for me, or asking because you think I'll be easy."

"No, ma'am." This time, Darcy thought, James was in earnest. He'd straightened up, and his hands were hanging open at his sides in a loose approximation of "attention."

"Why, then?"

The smile crept back. "You have good taste in... pajama pants," he said slowly, one eyebrow raised. "And you've got great... literary references."

Darcy rolled her eyes.

"And because I'd really like to get to know you better," James finished, looking genuinely unguarded for once. He went to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, seemed surprised to find the flower there, and held it out to her.

She took his offering. The flower was palest pink, its petals just beginning to unfurl from a tight spherical bud. There was a light, sweet scent, and a hint of something like spearmint that must have been from James' shampoo.

"Pick me up at eight," she decided, and tucked the flower into her own wild nest of curls.

That earned her the bright smile again, and Darcy felt a dizzy swirl of vertigo as she watched him relax and turn to go. The no-shirt look was seriously working for him. There was something niggling at her, though...

"Wait."

James paused halfway down the hall. "Yeah?" he said over one shoulder, his expression wary.

Darcy narrowed her eyes. " _Darcy-doll?_ "

"Makes it scan better," he told her, and shot her an easy wink. "Doll."

Darcy scoffed in indignation, but James was already sauntering down the hall with a swagger to his hips and his arms stretched overhead for maximum effect.

Darcy _definitely_ watched him go.

**Author's Note:**

> [Cosmic jerk and snap](http://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10714-014-1814-z): totally not something I made up.
> 
> ...And this is me on [tumblr](http://z-delenda-est.tumblr.com), where I am _always_ up for egregious literary references and horrible Latin puns.


End file.
